My father’s voice lived in my head long after he was gone — every criticism, every disappointment. I thought forgiving him meant saying it was okay. It wasn’t okay. Forgiveness, for me, meant finally setting down a weight I’d been carrying for him. He never apologized. I let go anyway. The lightness was for me.
— Anonymous
Sit With This
Whose voice are you still carrying — and what would it cost you to set it down?
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